


Typical

by hitchcock_blonde



Category: Riverdale (TV 2017)
Genre: Archie can be pretty evil sometimes, Archie not so much, Badass Betty, Betty defends Jughead, Betty finds out Jughead is homeless, Betty is great at feelings, Dark Betty implied, Dorks in Love, F/M, Geniuses in Love, Idiot in (One-sided) Love, Minor Angst, She's Amazing, and reading people, lines are crossed, naturally, of course Archie is in love with Betty, the question is just why the hell he didn't love her before, with a happy ending
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-03-25
Updated: 2017-03-25
Packaged: 2018-10-10 15:31:27
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,846
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10440969
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/hitchcock_blonde/pseuds/hitchcock_blonde
Summary: Betty was always first to the lunch table.Today, though, Archie was waiting for her.He had his hands spread out on the table and his legs crossed, and at the sight of her, his face split open in one of his huge dopey Archie™ grins. “Hey, Betts!” he exclaimed with false cheeriness. Betty flinched—only Jughead called her Betts—before chiding herself. Archie had probably heard Jughead use the nickname and figured he would give it a try. It was quintessentially an Archie move, so why did the way he said it sound stilted and somehow…accusatory?She was being paranoid, she decided firmly. Archie wasn’t some sort of enemy. It was just her brain working on overdrive from trying to catch a killer. A perfectly natural reaction, but that didn’t mean it was an accurate one. She didn’t want to alienate Archie over a childhood nickname.When his gaze dropped, she could have sworn it was to her lips, but Archie had told her he didn't think of her that way...





	

Betty was always first to the lunch table. It was an unspoken tradition in their little gang—she would come first, then either Jughead or Kevin, then Archie, and then Veronica. Veronica coming was always a relief, because she had a wonderful tendency to head Archie off if he was trying to involve himself in her conversation with Jughead and to get him back talking about himself. Veronica was excellent at getting people to talk about themselves, and Archie always seemed to have a lot to talk about.

Today, though, Archie was waiting for her. He had his hands spread out on the table and his legs crossed, and at the sight of her, his face split open in one of his huge dopey Archie™ grins. “Hey, Betts!” he exclaimed with false cheeriness. Betty flinched—only Jughead called her Betts—before chiding herself. Archie had probably heard Jughead use the nickname and figured he would give it a try. It was quintessentially an Archie move, so why did the way he said it sound stilted and somehow…accusatory?

She was being paranoid, she decided firmly. Archie wasn’t some sort of enemy. It was just her brain working on overdrive from trying to catch a killer. A perfectly natural reaction, but that didn’t mean it was an accurate one. She didn’t want to alienate Archie over a childhood nickname.

“Hey,” she returned, smiling back and settling on the opposite corner of the table from Archie. She couldn’t help tensing when he scooted over to be right across from her, with that stupid grin still plastered on his face and his eyes wide and eager. She definitely couldn’t help moving her hands quickly off the table when his appeared to chase them. Betty stared at the table, wondering when just talking to Archie had gotten so awkward.

“So I—uh—“ He seemed to sense the awkwardness too—his hands clutched each other on the table, his eyes dropped (to her lips, Betty would have thought, but Archie had _told_ her he didn’t think of her that way), and he cleared his throat vaguely before continuing. “Uh, I wanted to talk.” Archie’s right hand moved to rub anxiously at his neck. “You know, we haven’t really talked in a while, just—y’know, the two of us—without, y’know—“

“Jughead?” Betty interrupted coolly. The distress forming on Archie’s face at her skepticism made a surge of guilt wash over her. He wasn’t meaning to be pushy, he was just being Archie. It was probably weird for him to suddenly feel out of the loop, having been for so long the center of the trio.

“Yeah, Jughead. Uh, well, actually, that’s what I wanted to talk about.”

Danger.

“Really?” Betty tried her hardest to combine the are-you-really-going-to-do-this-now, please-just-stop, and is-this-what-I-think-it-is glances into one and level it at her best friend (which, really, was he? Was he still?). Sadly, Archie had never been as sensitive to Betty’s expressions as Jughead was. (Probably, Betty realized suddenly, because Jughead had always been watching her far more closely than Archie ever would.)

“Yeah!” Archie, very unfortunately, seemed to take Betty’s horror for enthusiasm. “Yeah, and you know, you guys are—are dating now—“ He ground the words out, and where was Jughead to share horrified glances with? Betty had never felt more palpably alone. “And, y’know, I’m really happy for you guys, ‘course…”

“Of course,” Betty repeated with a tight smile. Archie’s uneasy eyes flickered up, then down again. He swallowed, then—regrettably—continued.

“But, you know, I thought I should just ask, make sure—Betty, are you _sure_ that Jughead’s good enough for you?”

There it was. It was almost a relief. There was no treading around it now, no excuses, just a plunge into the abyss with no looking back.

She’d known it would come out eventually, if she was being completely honest with herself. Archie wasn’t the type to sit and stew for long, not if sitting and stewing wasn’t getting him what he wanted. Betty was many things, but she wasn’t an idiot. She had eyes. She knew Archie Andrews like the back of her hand. All those times he had made sheep eyes…no matter how hard she had tried to deny it, somewhere in the back of her head, it had been undeniable.

“Well…” She played dumb. She played innocent. “I think so…why?” Her fingers dug deep into skin and stayed there. The pain helped the anger to dissolve.

 _Your friendship with Archie means more than this. It matters more than this. Don’t blow up. Don’t let him control you. You’re better than this._ It was Jughead’s voice, because she’d discovered recently that it worked the best to calm her down, even when it was just in her head.

Archie leaned forward conspiratorially to whisper, “Betty…” He looked like he was jumping off a cliff, which was strange, because Betty was pretty sure the cliff had already passed. “Did you know that Jughead’s homeless?”

Okay.

That was…

Well, it was…

Uh…

Not what she had expected.

Definitely _not_ what she had expected.

“What.” It didn’t come out as a question. Nothing was coming out right, not even in her head. Betty didn’t even know what to say. What did people say to that? What did you even _say_ to that?

“Yeah, he’s been…that’s why he’s been staying with me. He doesn’t have anywhere else to go. It’s…it sucks, you know? It really sucks.”

What did you even say? What would a normal person say?

“Yeah…”

It felt like she was spinning her wheels uselessly, like the world had stopped and she was still spinning. Jughead was homeless? How long had he been homeless? How had he even managed to hide it from them--? A series of images crowded her mind, each more disturbing than the next—Jughead agreeing to work for the Blue and Gold (“Doesn’t sound like complete freedom, but I’m in,” while his eyes had been telling her that the whole time), Jughead climbing up a ladder to her window and helping her calm down, Jughead making her laugh as they ran through freezing rain to Polly’s car, Jughead saying “I don’t want to be a scapegoat” in the police interrogation room, Jughead’s little touches in the hallways because he knew she never got enough of human contact, Jughead asking her for chips with a glance—Jughead always hungry (because he doesn’t know when he’ll get another meal), always there for her (because he doesn’t have anywhere else to go, that’s why he’s been staying with Archie), with his eyes and his lips and his damn adorable beanie that looks like a crown— _homeless._

Why wouldn’t he tell her? was a passing thought, filed away for later reference in favor of a resounding _why would Archie tell her?_ What did he think, that Betty would be angry Jughead hadn’t trusted her enough to tell her—? That was valid, she supposed, for someone who didn’t understand Jughead’s worthiness complex or underestimated the implicit trust in their relationship, but the problem was that, honestly, a thought like that was too psychologically sensitive to really be Archie’s. It was horrible of her to think, but her instincts told her it was true, and she trusted her instincts (Jughead always trusted her instincts). More likely, Archie thought that she’d realize Jughead was in a bad place and abandon him like some sort of shallow bitch, and then she’d be ripe for the taking, wouldn’t she? He could just swoop in, a knight in shining armor, because of course he’d think she’d loved him all along, Archie would never believe anything different. He’d think that realizing just how low Jughead was in the social ladder would push her, with typical Alice Cooper judgement, with typical Archie Andrews loyalty, to abandon the only person who’d always been there. Of course he’d think that. Of course.

It had been five seconds, tops, since Archie had spilled the beans, and Betty realized suddenly that she couldn’t take it anymore.

Violently, she stood up.

Archie matched her instantly, practically leaping forward so that they were standing mere inches apart. “Betty—“ He didn’t reach out a hand to steady her; he didn’t even touch her, just stood there with this _distance_ between them. “Betty, what’s wrong?”

Betty stared at him, her eyes shining with horrible comprehension. Slowly but surely, her hands uncurled.

Then, in one swift, seamless motion, she kneed him in the groin, grabbed a 5-pound textbook from her bag, and hit him over the head with it.

Archie collapsed, wheezing.

“Leave me the fuck alone,” Betty snarled. She crammed the textbook back in her bag, swung it over her shoulder, wheeled about, and headed off to find—

_Jughead._

He was standing there, on the grass.

With inhuman fierceness still raring in her and a dull noise ringing in her ears, Betty marched up and kissed him. When she finally pulled away, the noise had faded, and she felt somehow calmer. (But then again, of course she did. It was Jughead. He always helped.)

“I love you,” she whispered, and meant it.

“Uh—“ Jughead stared at her, looking very much like someone who has no idea what’s happening, but is definitely enjoying it. “I—I love you too.” From his face, he meant it. That itself put a smile on Betty’s lips.

“We need to talk,” she told him.

He visibly recoiled. “Wait, what? Aren’t those two sentences, like, mutually exclusive?”

Betty grinned at him. “Not in this case. Can we talk somewhere private?”

Jughead held up a hand to stop her. “Why is Archie on the ground?”

“Because I kicked him in the balls.”

Jughead eyed Betty in confusion. “Why did you kick him in the balls?”

Betty laughed. “That’s what we need to talk about.”

His eyes narrowed. “Why are you so happy?”

“I don’t know.” Betty grinned anyway.

“Should I be disturbed?”

“Probably,” she admitted. “But we need to leave before I get framed for this.”

Jughead gave her a look.

“I don’t wanna be a scapegoat,” she teased, and gave him The Look (read: puppy eyes) they both knew always broke him.

Jughead rolled his eyes in defeat and yelled, “Archie!”

“Huh?” Archie asked from the ground.

“What did you think you were doing, you clumsy idiot? Kneeing yourself in the groin and then hitting yourself over the head with Betty’s textbook—how you even _managed_ it is beyond me.”

Archie, dazed, pulled himself to a kneeling position. He didn’t seem to have heard a word Jughead said. “Jugs, I’m sorry, don’t hate me, I don’t know why I did it, I—“

“You should be sorry,” Jughead retorted, “you clumsy imbecile. Did you _want_ it to look like Betty did it?”

“Wha’?” Archie asked. “I don’t know—I’m really sorry—“

“Tell it to Principal Weatherbee,” snapped Jughead, turning his back on his best friend and wrapping an arm gingerly around Betty. She leaned into him, pressing her head against his shoulder.

“C’mon, then,” he told Betty softly. “Let’s talk.”


End file.
